


Ink and Flowers

by corinnemaree



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 22:12:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10863126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corinnemaree/pseuds/corinnemaree
Summary: When Owen’s mother is desperate for help at her flower shop, he helps out, thinking nothing will come of it. Then, the tattoo artist from across the street comes in, wanting to sketch the flowers. From there, everything becomes more than just ink and flowers.





	Ink and Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> I know you guys want other fics finished, but I got inspired and wanted to do this. Next update should be in two weeks. Sorry if the delay is long. My birthday is coming up and free time is being taken away by like a dozen different things. Hope you like. xx

When Owen came back from the Navy, there wasn’t much he wanted to do. He worked with animals before, but had no formal training with them, he had his military training but there wasn’t much he could do with that in ordinary life. So, he worked for his mother and father part time, the other times he was working as a personal trainer and training men to work with military dogs. 

Pulling up on the bar, hitching his body up and feeling the twinge in his thighs - the pull ups at the gym were getting excessive. Owen couldn’t help it though, he was driving himself in circles when he thought about Charlie Charlie or the dogs at the military training base. He was struggling to find a clear path in his head. 

Phone blaring, Owen dropped from the bar and took his way past the mirror. The scars on his skin shone brighter with the glistening sweat drenching his torso. He huffed before he picked up his phone, hearing the frantic breathing of his mother on the other end. “Owen!” she proclaimed, a tone of surprise and joy all in one. 

“Mom? What’s wrong?” he asked. 

“I’m desperate, are you free?” she gave out a soft and hopeless breath.

“Yeah, what is it?” he asked, running a towel over the back of his neck, trying to catch the beads of sweat over his body.

“I need someone to run the store for me,” she said, begging with every last word. Owen groaned. His mother flower shop was lovely to visit, but Owen hadn’t run it since he started training for the Navy

“What about -” 

His mother quickly interrupted. “Vivian had to go out of town. Your father is still at the hospital and he isn’t taking his medication again and I don’t -” 

“Mom, I’ll handle it,” he sighed. His mother sighed on the other end. 

“I love you the best. You’re the best son I have,” she said, like she always did. He rolled his eyes. 

“I’m your only son. Say I’m your favourite child and I might believe you,” he smiled.

“Sorry, I love you and Elena equally,” she gave a soft giggle, knowing that his mother was never going to pick a favourite of her kids.

“Yeah, yeah,” Owen chuckled, gathering up his belonging. He managed to jump in the shower at home before changing into a dark dress shirt and some jeans that had probably worn past their use at this point. Putting on his combat boots he met his mother at the entrance of the shop. She handed him the keys, kissed him on the forehead and left him at the corner shop that was filled with flowers. 

Stepping inside was like a perfume store; every smell and fragrance that lingered in the air intoxicating and lovely to walk through walls of different aromas. He had worked the store before, being a nice enough salesperson, but he didn’t care enough to gauge what people were really looking for. Managing to work the afternoon with no uncomfortable conversations and adhering to all his mother’s rules about the shop, even fixing bouquets together on the fly from how he remembered it. 

Pushing the cash drawer closed, he smiled to the last customer of the day. He turned the open side over, showing the closed sign out of the door. Owen took the cash from the till, counting it all and putting down everything in the books before going to the safe in the back, stacking away the money. When he was making sure everything was ready to put away, he heard the soft ding of the bell as the door passed it. He crooked his head before closing up the safe. “Viv? Vivian, you in?” a feminine voice called out. 

“Sorry, we’re closed,” Owen called, walking back into the main shop, watching as one of the most radiant women walk cautiously into the shop. With a sketchpad hitched underneath her arm, she smiled to Owen. Her hair was the colour of copper with similar coloured freckles scattering her skin. With blue eyes like the ocean in the middle of a storm, the small lift at the edge of her nose and a smile that slayed him, Owen was sold. Gracing her skin, she was covered in tattoos; across her arms, along the side of her neck and most likely littering the rest of her. She looked almost professional, flared trousers that came up just past her hips and a shirt that was tied in at her stomach; whoever this was, she was stunning and Owen was feeling his heart patter like rain on roof.

“Oh, no. I had an agreement with Vivian that I get to sketch here after hours to work on my flower skills. I work at the tattoo parlor across the road,” she explained, biting at the edge of her lip, waiting patiently for Owen to reply. 

“I’m Owen, the owner, kinda,” he stammered, rubbing his hands together as she came up and around the counter, sitting on the stool and setting her sketchpad down. 

“Nice to meet you, Owen the owner. Kinda,” she winked before she stopped, looking over to Owen, who must have seem flustered and uncomfortable; he really wasn’t sure how this usually worked and he couldn’t exactly ask anyone. “Is it okay if I do this? I mean, Vivian stays with me and watches me work,” she elaborated, showing some of her other sketches. Some of the flowers were in clear view from where she was sitting, others hidden or not on display. Owen noticed one sketch that he had seen before. 

“You give Vivian that tattoo on her ankle?” he asked, pointing to the tulip that decorated an entire page in the woman’s sketchpad. 

“Yeah,” she nodded with a smile that made her cheeks beautiful and full. 

“You’re welcome here,” he shrugged. She extended her hand to him, a large and detailed image of a fox laid across the backside of her hand, the colours matching that of her hair. 

“I’m Claire, by the way,” she greeted and Owen took it, nodding and smiling back to her. Owen decided to clean as she worked on the lavender in front of the desk that day. Claire sat on the stool, her shoulders hunched over and hair falling all around the right side of her neck. Owen tried not to watch her when she swept the floor, but there was a thing she did that had him watching her every time. 

When she was trying to get a petal or flower right; she put her pencil in her mouth, rolling the wood across her teeth in frustration. Around her index finger, she curled her hair, the length of it filtering through the remainders of her hand. Eyes focused, she maintained a contact with what she was drawing, as though she was willing it onto paper with sheer intimidation. Then, like an electric shock, she was working once more; pencil out from teeth, fingers no longer playing with hair, now she was focused on the art, that soon turned into a sketch-work-masterpiece. 

“I haven’t seen you in at all,” Claire said, half working on a new sketch and half paying attention to Owen. He shrugged as he placed the fallen petals into their bin and rested his hands on the top of the broom, his chin soon meeting against his knuckles. 

“My mom owns the store. She was desperate. Dragged me here,” he sighed

Claire glanced up from her sketchpad, smirking as though she knew something he didn’t. “And you just have time to jump when mommy calls?” she jabbed, returning to her art. 

“Well, I got discharged from the Navy ‘cause of my bum knee, so I’ve got time on my hands nowadays,” he replied, not letting her words phase him. He had heard similar replies since he was home, so he had hardened to being useless. Sometimes more than others. Claire stopped working to look up at him, a red line rushing over her cheeks and nose. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” she grimaced, her own words impacting on her. Owen shrugged again. 

“Nah, it’s okay,” he said, lifting from the broom and moving around the desk to lean against it. “I didn’t do much before I joined the Navy, so I haven’t been able to find my legs since being home.”

“Why did you get discharged?” she asked, a timid voice behind her words, as though she was worried she was stepping over the line. Owen folded his arms, sighing but smiling in a way he knew his mother would describe as ‘goofy’. 

“That’s a bit of a story,” he said, not wanting to get into the gory details as much. That’s when he felt Claire’s foot nudge against his thigh.

“I’m not going to cringe,” she whispered and Owen chuckled, letting his hands fall to either side of him and grip hard into the desk.

“Me and my unit were supposed to be on a solo mission. We had no back ups because we were the only squad asked to go. If we fail, we die. We got to the location, we were ready and we got out mission completed,” he explained, noticing that Claire was listening and waiting for the story. She tapped his leg once more, eager to hear the rest. 

“But?” 

Owen signed, watching his feet and not wanting to raise his eyes to Claire. “We didn’t anticipate the amount of guys we had to get through on the way out. We got hit with an IED. I got thrown. Knee was ruined. It was my last tour,” he chewed on his bottom lip. “I got discharged ‘cause I couldn’t pass my physical. But I had pushed myself to do it, so my captain has put in a word to see if I can make it up,” he explained, finally looking up to Claire. She tilted her head.

“Are you considering going back?” she asked, a small amount of concern in her voice. 

“I have no idea at this point,” he shrugged. Then, there was a loud alarm blaring. Claire scrambled for her purse, grabbing at her phone and turning off the alarm. 

“Shit, I gotta go!” she swore, grabbing her sketchpad and rushing past Owen.

“It was good meeting -” he started as the bell rang and the image of her woman was gone. “you,” he finished, picking up the broom and finished up the floor. As he was reading to shut up the shop for the late afternoon, the bell suddenly rang again. Owen perked up to see Claire half peeking in through the door.

“You too, Owen,” she smiled before rushing off again. Owen chuckled, shaking his head and continuing locking up.

Owen found that every moment he was meant to be at the gym, he was now at his mother’s shop, helping out when he really wasn’t needed. Every other day Claire would stop into the shop, drawing and chatting with Vivian and Owen. Sometimes she’d just come in to talk and joke with them. It was becoming a habit and Owen loved it. There were days where Owen had to work with clients and work with the dogs, and he would feel guilty for missing his days at the shops - even though there was someone already there. Anyone who wasn’t him and took care of the shop was not good enough. And he knew damn well why he felt that way.

“You’re working here more often, Mister Grady,” Vivian mentioned that afternoon, as Owen adjusted the roses in front of the counter. 

“Vivian, don’t you dare,” he commented, though he smiled to himself. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Vivian giggled. “Just maybe a certain tattoo artist is making you hang around,” she teased, tickling at Owen’s sides. He raised his eyebrows, staring Vivian down playfully when the door’s bell rang and the two smiled.

“Hey guys!” Claire beamed, an odd outfit on for the day. She wore shorts, which was very unusual, but as his eyes investigated, the clingwrap that hugged her thigh told him everything; she had a new tattoo. 

“How’s the new tattoo going?” Vivian asked, Owen taking the money from the till to the back room like he always did, dictating in the books the new amount that day. Owen came back around the corner, leaning against the doorframe and folding his arms. The women talked away.

“I only got it done today. Wanted to drop by and say hi before heading off,” Claire smiled, tying up her hair in a lazy bun. She seemed tired, the session must have been long enough for Claire to become exhausted. 

“I bet it looks amazing,” Vivian beamed. Claire huffed as she put her hands on her hips. 

“And how is our soldier? Silent today,” she remarked, looking at Owen. He scratched the back of his neck.

“Got a lot on my mind,” he said as the bell rang to the shop and a whirlwind of noise came flooding in - in particular, the sound of a dog panting, barking and sniffing all the flowers. Owen jumped off from the frame and raced over to Barry who led in the excited pup. “Wow, Barry, I didn’t realise you were bringing Trixie in today,” he said, greeting his friend. The two shared a small embrace before Owen bent down to Trixie. She was a growing German Shepherd, a thick fur coat with a gorgeous face that beamed with excitement. 

“Sorry man, house wasn’t keeping her there long enough,” Barry explained and Owen nodded, scratching behind Trixie’s ear. He gave a sharp whistle between his teeth and the dog sat down patiently, wagging her tail in an eager display of willpower. Owen grinned before clicking his fingers and the dog jumped up, licking his face. She was only young after all, so he let things slide with her.

“Who’s this?” Claire interrupted as Barry extended his hand.

“Barry.” 

“I meant the dog,” Claire remarked before laughing a little. She took Barry’s hand. “I’m joking. Claire. I work across the road,” she told him. But who is this wonderful puppy here?” 

“Trixie. She’s a military dog. Been training her for a while,” Owen said as Claire bent down at his side. Trixie started to jump up at Claire when Owen whistled and Trixie sat back down. 

“You train military dogs?” Claire asked as they both rose up. Owen tucked his hands into his pockets before shrugged.

“In my off time.”

“What else do you do in your off time?” Claire challenged, crossing her arms. 

“Personal trainer,” Owen said, untucking his hands and scratching the back of his head.

“Plays a mean round of pool too,” Barry shot out. Owen’s brow narrowed, then he realised what his friend was doing. Since coming home, Owen hadn’t dated anyone, hadn’t even considered dating anyone. And Barry must have sensed something, known something. 

“I’ve been told I can beat anyone at pool. Where do you want to go? I know Ricky’s has a small table,” Claire offered, a challenge waiting in that smile of hers.

“Owen has his own full-table,” Vivian interrupted and Owen clenched his jaw.

“I’ll have to show you one of these days,” he said before anyone else could make a fool of him. Claire bit at her lip before nodding. 

“It’s a date,” she said, Owen feeling the beat of his heart like an electric wave - the quickening of flowed through his body, making him feel new and alive. An alarm blared from Claire’s phone. 5pm on the dot. She scrambled to stop it and furrowed her brow. “Shit, I gotta go,” she remarked, waving to everyone and patting Trixie’s head. 

It was a week or so later when Claire finally confronted Owen on the date that he had promised. They agreed to keep it casual, just hang out at his and call it a night around 11pm. There was an unspoken agreement to not mention why she would leave but they both knew it was the right thing to do. Meeting at his at 7pm was the plan, to just have dinner, play a little pool and let them both be free of any mistakes they might make that night. Instead of his dinner and cooking skills going to plan, he almost set fire to his kitchen. Letting the remains of the poor unfortunate meal he was planning, he quickly rang up the Chinese restaurant just down the street and begged for them to hurry it over.

It was 7:30 when Claire managed to get there, in a fluster as she got to the door. “Sorry, I thought I might have to cancel and a lot of other mess,” she said walking in, barely letting Owen register what she was wearing. In a green dress that had string straps hugged at her bodice before giving her room from her waist onwards. Across her chest, and at the top of one of her knees leading up to her thighs, she was showcasing a range of tattoos with bizarre styles to artistic to a classic form of tattooing. Owen would have to ask her about some of them soon.

“All good,” he shrugged. Claire tossed her hair over her shoulder before she looked at Owen.

“You fucked up dinner didn’t you?” she said, both noticing the faint smell of burnt food lingering in the air. He chuckled.

“A little.” 

“Chinese?” 

“Already got it covered.” 

“Genius,” she smiled before setting down her purse. 

The Chinese food arrived a little while later and as for surprises, Claire kept hitting him in the gut with them. She settled on the floor in front of the TV, resting her plate on the coffee table as she ate through her dinner. Owen sat down opposite her, smiling and blissfully aware that this night was happening and it was everything he wanted it to be. 

“Did you work with dogs when you were fighting?” Claire asked, taking a bite from her spring roll. Owen dusted his hands.

“Yeah. A couple of different ones. Most other people’s. But I had my own,” he recalled, leaning back on his hands with his legs outstretched. He felt comfortable talking to Claire, which was very weird. 

“How many dogs did you work with?” she asked, covering her mouth as she talked. 

“I was in a special unit so we always had a dog with us. We worked with around twelve dogs. Some were more permanent than others,” he said, Claire’s eyes widening. 

“Did they -” 

“Oh, no. We never saw our dogs get too badly injured, but some of them retired or got injured in a spot that prevented them from doing their job efficiently. Some were only training so, we swapped around a bit,” he corrected and Claire gave a sigh, dusting her own hands, both plates bare. 

“How was working with them, though?” 

“Dogs are loyal but they’re an incredibly big target,” he shrugged. 

“What do you mean?” 

“The people we fight, they know about the dogs. They will find out what kind of dog it is and have a price out for it. People, not just the other side, but civilians will target the dogs for the reward. We’ve gotta be real careful when we train them and use them,” he explained, remembering days when covering your dog was more important than any other mission because they had done it so many times before. “They’re your lifeline.” 

“Did you ever use one?”

“Yeah,” Owen smiled. “I didn’t tell you what I am.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

“Navy SEAL,” he remarked and Claire gave out a surprised scoff. “My dog, Charlie Charlie, she was my best friend and my ultimate life-saver,” Owen remembered. Times when he was at his worst, scared and feeling alone in the middle of chaos, he had Charlie Charlie there to be his everything. 

“What happened?” 

“I got out. She didn’t,” Owen shrugged. Claire was visibly taken aback by that and Owen corrected himself quickly. “She’s still on active duty and it’s killing me being away from her.”

Claire sighed, tucking hair behind her ear. “How much longer does she have?” 

“Another year or so. Though, I’ve heard she’s stopped taking orders so she’s probably going to retire soon,” Owen said, stretching out his neck that had become stiff. 

“Why wouldn’t she…” Claire started before it seemed to click. “She misses you.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Some dogs are incredibly loyal. Meaning, they won’t take orders from just anyone. Charlie Charlie took orders from me. Now I’m the only person she’s going to listen to.” 

“Must be tough,” she said, sympathising with him. He smiled back to her timidly.

“It sucks, yeah.”

Drinking another bottle of beer, and joking with one another, they finally managed to rise from the floor and Owen showed her the pool table that was held in the back room for the space alone. Claire bit at her lip before going over to the cues. “So, you wanna play?” she beamed.

“Thought that was the point of tonight,” Owen said going behind Claire and following her to the rack of cues. She grabbed at a cue before Owen came behind her, taking hold of the stick and slipping it from her hand. “Ah, mine,” he said over her shoulder. She turned, a spark of excitement echoed across her eyes.

“Oh, picky are we?” 

“About a few things,” Owen shrugged and Claire tugged on another cue as Owen walked around to the other side of the table. 

“Want to play for something a little more than just winning a game?” she tempted and Owen stopped, holding onto his cue tightly. 

“What do you have in mind?” he asked, watching as Claire tilted her head and suddenly leaned across the table. 

“If I win, you have to lie down on this table and I get to do whatever I want to you,” she said, a wicked smile pressing to the edge of her lips. “If you win, you can do anything you want to me,” she said as her hand skimmed over the green fabric. Owen felt his cock twitch. She was good at temptation and he knew she was keenly aware. Biting his lip, he clutched at the cue once more before his eyes tightened on her. Claire took in a sharp breath. 

“Why not get the game out of the way? We both want this to happen,” he asked before Claire battered her eyelashes.

“But where’s the fun in that?” 

Then, the game got interesting beyond what they had already bargained. Owen and Claire had both played well for the first three balls before they both got crafty - distracting the other in some way or another. Once, as Owen prepared to shoot, he watched as Claire ran her tongue up the cue, her eyes barely lifting from his. Owen kept his eyes on hers as he shot the ball, it skipping past one of Claire’s and sinking directly into the pocket in the corner. Claire huffed as her turn came up, sinking her ball. It became habit to just skim past each, teasing and distracting every way they could. 

Then, Owen snuck the eightball with two of Claire’s balls still remaining on the table. Owen put his cue back on the rack, walking around the table to try to get to Claire. She avoided him, their bodies orbiting the table. “I win,” Owen reminded, raising his brow. 

“You lied about how good you were,” Claire said, her cue fitting up against Owen’s. 

“Never said anything about how good I was. I think the phrase Barry used was ‘he plays a mean round’. I count that as mean,” Owen reminded her. Then, everything in him screamed for her, begged for her to come to him. He wasn’t going to move; she was his in this moment and he was going to have her how  _ he _ wanted her. He gestured to her, one finger softly beckoning her to him. “Here. Now.” It wasn’t a question; it was a demand, and he wanted it met. Claire bit at her lip, taking her time in going to Owen. The guttural sound that vibrated at the back of his throat was unexpected, but he watched her with heated eyes and she finally made her way to him. 

“So, what are you going to do to me?” she asked as she stood in front of him. She seemed so much smaller now, her nature and confidence not wavering, but she seemed to buckle under his gaze. He twirled his finger, making her turn around. Claire complied, like she had no control over herself; she was willingly doing as she was told. 

It was like a daze of thoughts - everything all at once and yet nothing seemed real. He was really getting to do whatever he liked to her. Owen flipped up her dress revealing the black lace underwear that hid beneath. Owen pushed on her lower back, forcing her down onto the table gently. Taking his fingers, he ran the lace down her legs and she stepped out of them quickly. As Owen’s pace was slow, he was so tempted to taste her, have her exactly the way he intended, but something in him pulled him to ask.

“You sure about this?” he whispered as he bent over her and whispered in her ear. His cock was hardening now, lining the seam of his pants and pressing into her. Claire nodded with a small whine following. “Legs,” he demanded. She stepped to the side, letting herself be spread up just that little bit more. His hand rounded the curve of her ass, her soft skin so tempting - his hand smacked against it and Claire gasped, as though she wasn’t quite expecting the pleasure of it. The red mark came up quickly, his hand leaving a perfect sign that she was his. 

Licking his fingers, Owen ran them over Claire’s folds, already wet with anticipation, but as soon as his fingers slid over her, Claire’s hips raised - expecting more. Unbuckling his pants, he took his length into his hand, stroking it lightly before running his tip over Claire’s heated cunt. Claire rose up on her hands as Owen started to fill her with his length. She was warm and as she rocked back, she was more than inviting. Hitting each other in a soft movement, she welcomed him fully, though she was panting more than he expected. With how Claire was going, he expected her to be composed and trying her hardest not to see effected by him - instead, she was shaking slightly, visibly enjoying herself. 

Holding onto her waist, his other hand slid up her back, fingers loosely tracing the lines of her tattoos. Taking hold of her shoulder, Owen began thrusting into Claire with everything he had. Claire whimpered and moaned with every few thrusts, the way their bodies moved together made everything like ecstasy - intoxicating and mind-blowing. Every thrust was to the hilt, their bodies meeting together in a display of passion - they needed as much pleasure as possible. Owen gripped hard into her hair, forcing Claire up and holding onto the rail of the table. Kissing along the length of her neck and cheek, it dawned on Owen that the two hadn’t kissed at all; yet this all felt right. 

Claire panted, her hand reaching down to her clit, beginning to stroke it. Owen grunted, forcing his hand in her place. Her fingers were rough, and he teased at her. Claire buckled, needing the railing once more as Owen’s fingers began playing with her more and more. Claire suddenly reached for Owen’s wrist, not because she wanted him to stop, because she was getting close to her climax. Her nails ground into his arm, an overwhelmingly brilliant pain that just fucking worked enough to push Owen harder. 

Taking a sudden gasp in, Claire’s hips forcing back into Owen’s, her orgasm broke beautifully. Sweat glistened on her shoulders as she moaned and chuckled out in surprise, bliss just radiating through her. Owen didn’t stop his fingers or the way his cock filled her each time their skin met - her next orgasm following quickly and unexpectedly. That’s when Owen couldn’t take it anymore; when Claire’s head fell back, or pleasure took over her, he never got to see her. He wanted to see her and for her to know it was all him. 

Leaving her beautiful warmth, he took Claire around and settled her on the rail of the table. Claire took up her dress and threw it across the room. As she unclasped her bra, Owen marvelled at her decorated skin; every piece of art hidden by clothing was fine art on even finer art. Her hands grabbed at Owen’s shirt, beginning to unbutton it when she stopped, tracing her fingers over the tattoo that was on his chest. 

“You’ve been hiding this from me,” Claire said, smiling. Owen ripped his shirt open, showing the tattoos littering his skin.

“These,” he smirked, leaning in to kiss Claire. It was rough and needy, teeth biting and nipping. It was the exact fire that Owen thought they would have; perfect and filled with adrenaline. 

“I’m gonna kill you for hiding these,” she muttered as Owen pulled her closer, trailing his lips down her neck and to her breasts. Claire soon found the tattoos that littered Owen’s back. “Wait, let me -” 

“Later. I’m busy,” he mumbled, biting at her breast and slowly sinking into her again. Claire had no choice in concentrating on his tattoos, her head had already fallen back. Owen let his mouth stay on her breast, biting and nipping at her, sucking at her nipples whenever he got the chance. Claire purred when Owen lightly bit on her nipple, her legs forcing his hips in tighter to her. 

Their hips met in a flurry of want and need. Claire’s hips bucked to meet with Owen’s, both impatient as the other. Owen kissed Claire again, as he thrust into her harder. It became harder for them both to maintain themselves, pushing, clawing, biting just to get each other off. Owen could feel Claire’s chest fluttering faster, gasping and moaning more than before. She was going come and he knew that it was going have her shaking and buckling. Claire’s nails dragged over his skin, crying out in pleasure, her body trying to gain friction, but she was just riding out her pleasure as best as she could. 

The table was becoming an unwelcome component to their rhythm. Every time Owen wanted to go harder or faster with Claire, she would almost slip from the railing and Owen would have to pull her in and start again. It was becoming messy and uncoordinated. Owen just wanted to fucked Claire how he wanted to fuck her. And this damn table railing wasn’t helping in the slightest. 

Owen groaned, taking himself from Claire once more before kicking off his pants and jumping up on the table. Claire laughed, moving herself around to the centre of the table. Owen found himself right back where he wanted to be inside her, their bodies meeting in a wonderful rhythm of sin. Claire giggled more, enjoying herself and the pleasure she was feeling. Owen just couldn’t stop smiling. There was something sensual about what they were doing - obviously - but, they focused on each other, the happiness that being together had them in. 

This position, however, gave Owen the perfect view of the beauty underneath him; watching her every time his cock pressed in deep inside her. Every time she wanted to feel something more, her chest lifted and fell back on the table with frustration, immediately masked by pleasure. Her face would turn to the table when she wanted to hide the smiles she couldn’t bear to show him. When he saw her like that, he would kiss up her neck, letting his tongue linger on her skin. They linked their fingers, holding on tight as Owen breathed heavily into Claire’s shoulder. Her nails pierced the back of his hand as she held on. 

Owen knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, and when he felt Claire’s body crave his, he knew they weren’t going to last long at all. They were rocking back and forth, pushing and thrust as hard and fast as they could, begging their bodies to get them to the end. Skin feeling like it was fire and electric, Owen felt Claire’s orgasm, the way her walls clamped down on his cock just wanting it that much more. It took no less than four thrusts to have him spiraling through Claire, his climax reached and he spilled inside of her. Claire’s hips circled, riding them both out of their climaxes. 

It had been some time, just lying on the pool table that would forever remind him of that night. They were wrapped up with one another, Claire’s leg laying over his hip and Owen’s arm draped over her back. Claire’s fingers circled around tattoos and scars, asking him about the certain tattoos that her had. Some were old, from when he was a teenagers, some from when he first joined and others from different countries that he visited. Claire’s finger traced over a lined scar at the base of his ribs. “Tell me about this one,” Claire asked.

“Stabbed,” he told her, gracing his fingers over the scar line. “When you do what I do, you have to be prepared to do whatever it takes. Getting stabbed was a requirement of taking down a pretty bad dude.” Claire winced. Owen chuckled and kissed her crown. 

“And this one?” Her fingers traced a scar hidden by a tattoo. It was circular and was hidden by a moon, just a little larger than the old scar.

“Shot in combat about two years ago,” he said as Claire’s hand tried finding more scars to ask about. 

“And what about -” 

“Enough talking from you,” Owen groaned, pulling Claire into him and tickling her. She started to squeal and kick her legs, trying to push off from Owen but lost terrible.

“No! Stop!” she cried out in between her laughter and Owen watched as she smiled brighter than ever before. How did he get so lucky?

“I want to keep seeing you,” Owen murmured. Claire hummed, curling up alongside him again. 

“I come to the store nearly every day,” she reminded. “You can pick me up every day you see me.” 

“I’m gonna be there everyday from now on, I hope you know that,” he said as Claire tilted her head up towards his.

“I was counting on it,” Claire chuckled before they kissed once more. 


End file.
